


Little Boy Blue and the Man in the Moon

by CaptainLeBubbles



Series: Throwback Thursday [6]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 13:20:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3852385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainLeBubbles/pseuds/CaptainLeBubbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I never got to tell Grif... that he was my son." Turns out that was less of a lie than he thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Boy Blue and the Man in the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Throwback Thursday of an unusual variety: this fic was never actually posted at the time it was written. I found it on my old computer and was persuaded to post it, so post it I shall.
> 
> Edits are a bit heavier than usual, since I never posted the original. They include: fixed typos, updated canon, and rearranging some stuff to better comply with new headcanons.
> 
>  
> 
> _Starts off somewhere between seasons 5 and 6, and carries on from there. Also, I know Donut wasn't transferred to Rat's Nest, but I forgot that until after I wrote it and I liked Lopez's line so much I had to keep it in there. So in this continuity, he was transferred with the rest and then was transferred again almost immediately._

 

"Grif! Go get me that wrench outta my desk!"

"Yeah, whatever, Sarge!"

 Grif grumbled to himself as he headed into Sarge's office in search of the requested wrench. He wasn't sure which drawer Sarge kept his extra tools in, so he just opened the first one his hand landed on. This one didn't have any tools in it, just some data chips and a picture of a young woman with dark hair. She looked kind of familiar, actually. He picked up the picture to get a closer look.

 "What. The. Fuck."

 Sarge didn't look up from the warthog as Grif stormed over to him.

 "Got the wrench for me, dirtbag?"

 "Explain this."

 "What?" Sarge turned around and found himself staring down a very angry Grif. Grif was holding a picture in his hand. "Where did you get that?"

 "Explain this _now_ , Sarge. Where the fuck did _you_ get it?"

 "I don't really think that's any of your business, dirtbag."

 "Not my business? You've got a picture of my fucking _mom_ in your desk drawer! How is that _not_ my business?"

 "Your... mom?"

 "Fuck yeah, my _mom_."

 "What's going on, guys? We heard shouting."

 Neither soldier spared Simmons or Donut a glance, and instead continued to stare each other down. Grif looked away first, to glare in their direction.

 "Sarge is perving on my mom, that's what's going on."

 "Your mom? What are you talking about?"

 "I'm talking about this." He held up the photo. "I found it in his desk drawer."

 "I thought your mom was a bearded fat lady. You know, with the circus."

 "Well she is now. She kinda let herself go after Liko left."

 "Your dad?"

 "My stepdad. He was an asshole. Walked out on us right after Sister was born. Mom was devastated. By the way, Sarge, I'm still waiting on an explanation. What are you doing with a picture of my mom?"

 Sarge stared at Grif. There was no way he was Kalani's son, absolutely no way. He held up his hands placatingly.

 "No calm down, Private. This is clearly all just a misunderstanding. This is quite an old photograph, and I'm sure you weren't born yet, so you can't be sure of what your mother looked like at that age. Maybe she's just another woman who looks like-"

 "Kalani Mahoe."

 "What?"

 

"She didn't marry Liko till I was five, she would have still been a Mahoe at the time this picture was taken."

 Sarge fell silent. Clearly, Grif _was_ Kalani's son. This wasn't happening.

 "You don't really look like her," Donut said. He and Simmons were staring intently at Kalani's photo. "I mean, I guess your eyes are the right color, but you're not built the same. And your hair's the wrong color."

 "Yeah... mom always said I look like my sperm-donor."

 "You mean your father," Sarge cut in.

 Grif shook his head. "No, I mean the guy that knocked up my mom and then left to play soldier instead of sticking around to raise his kid. That guy. My _sperm-donor_."

 "Listen, Grif, maybe you're overreacting here. Clearly there's been a bit of a mix-up. Why don't you take a break, maybe eat some Oreo's, take a nap. The sun is obviously getting to your head and you're starting to freak out." He took the photo from Donut. "I'll get that wrench myself."

 Grif was torn. He wanted to get to the bottom of the situation, but he was rarely (or never) given persmission to eat Oreo's and take naps in the middle of the day. In the end, the Oreo's won out, and he stalked back into the base, promising himself that he'd get his answers later.

 Simmons watched Grif leave, and turned to stare at Sarge. He'd never heard Sarge give Grif permission to do what he did anyway.

 "Uh, Sir? Is everything all right?"

 "Simmons, go get me a wrench."

 Sigh. "Yes, sir."

 o/o

 Grif hadn't bothered to take off his armor for his nap, but he'd removed his helmet, and was now turning it thoughtfully in his hands. He knew his mom had to have had relationships before meeting his father. Honolulu was a big spot for soldiers on leave, and Sarge would've been enlisted already at the time. It wasn't a big stretch to think that his mom might have met a handsome young soldier, visiting Hawaii on leave, and maybe had a nice fling with him while he was around. After all, wasn't that how she'd met his dad, and Liko?

 He didn't really like the idea of her having dated Sarge though, it just didn't compute. He shuddered at the thought of Sarge with him mom, and reassured himself that at least they wouldn't have slept together. His mom always told him that his dad had been her first. And there was _no fucking way_ that was Sarge.

 o/o

 Once he got to his office, Sarge locked the door and headed straight for his computer. He pulled up Grif's personnel file. He needed to see with his own eyes that Grif was Kalani's son. It just wasn't computing in his head, how could Grif, the most irritating asshole he'd ever met, be even partially related to Kalani, the sweetest, kindest woman in the world?

 But it was all there in his file. Mother, Kalani Grif, nee Mahoe. Sarge felt like shooting someone. He wished Grif were there. Grif made a great target.

 o/o

 "Do you want to talk about?"

 Grif didn't bother looking up as Simmons lay down on his own bunk. He heard the hiss of his helmet releasing, and was grateful. He hated having his helmet off when Simmons didn't. It felt like they were on unequal ground.

 "What about?"

 "Your dad. Or your step-dad. Or the weather. You know, whatever."

 Not long after the surgery, Simmons had felt the need to tell Grif his life's story, lying awake long into the nights talking about his parents and his childhood and his feelings... it was crap, but Grif hadn't minded listening. He understood that Simmons wanted him to feel like they were a part of each other, more than just physically but emotionally as well. It had also been a great distraction from the fact that most of his body wasn't really his anymore.

 One of the first things Simmons had opened up about was his father, a man who demanded perfection of his son and never seemed satisfied with his performance. Grif thought Simmons was just lucky his father cared enough to stick around, but had understood enough not to say anything. Besides, he hadn't really felt like opening up about his own childhood. Now, he figured it couldn't hurt.

 "My mom used to tell me I looked just like my dad. She used to talk about him in this wistful voice, like he was the best thing to ever happen to her. She told me he'd gone away to fight in the war, and I used to think he was some kind of hero. I wanted to join the army just like him, so I could be a hero too."

 "But you hate the army."

 "Getting there. Anyway, when I got a little older, I started hanging out at some of the other kids' houses and I got to know some of their dads. All of their parents asked me about my dad, and even though I had all these adventures I'd imagined him having in my head, I couldn't really tell them anything about him. I started to wonder why he never visited, or called, or even sent the occasional letter. After a while, I realized that he hadn't left because of the army, he'd left because he didn't want to stick around. The army was just his excuse."

 "Maybe he got killed. If he wasn't married to your mother, she wouldn't have been notified."

 "That's not the case. Anyway, my mom was always dating when I was growing up, and a lot of times she'd date soldiers. You know, guys on leave. She didn't like to get attached, but I could always tell that it hurt when they'd have to leave. Then she met Liko. He'd been discharged, because of some kind of wound or whatever, and he could actually stick around. They got married- I think mom just wanted to be married, because they hadn't been together long when they did. Liko adopted me- I think it was mom's idea, some idea about us being a family- and we were happy for a little while."

 "What happened?"

 "Liko's temper happened. Guy had anger coming out both ends. Used to take it out on me and my mom."

 "He hit you?" Simmons fell silent. His dad was an asshole, but he'd never felt the need to beat up on his family- and at least Simmons was his real son.

 "Yeah, it wasn't a great childhood. When mom got pregnant with Sister, Liko tried convincing her to get an abortion, cause he didn't want another kid. Mom refused, so Liko decided to leave. Mom didn't date much after that."

 "Right." Simmons shuffled akwardly. "Um, Grif? Have you thought that maybe Sarge-"

 "Yes, and I'd rather not think about it again."

 "Okay. Just checking."

 "Go to sleep, Simmons."

o/o

 Sarge stared at the computer screen, disbelief written all over his face. He'd run the numbers a dozen times, and the results came out the same every time. Dexter Grif had been born eight months, three weeks, and six days after he'd left Honolulu for his next posting.

 If those numbers were right, that would make Grif his son.

 Those numbers couldn't be right. Grif couldn't be his son. Hadn't he said that he looked like his dad? Sarge didn't see any resemblence between the two of them.

 Okay, so they were built along the same lines. But there were lots of people with that kind of build, it was just a coincidence. And Grif's complexion- the parts of his complexion that were actually his- was much darker than Sarge's. Of course, he was Hawaiian, so that would account for that, even if his father was white. But still.

 His hair, though, that was the wrong color. Whereas Sarge's hair was a light, dusty brown (or had been, before he'd gone grey), Grif's hair was a violent shade of orange. Sarge didn't have any red-headss in his family, so there was no way he could have gotten that from Sarge. Clearly, Sarge wasn't his father.

 Clearly.

o/o

 Sarge chuckled to himself over his coffee. He'd panicked a bit last night, but after consulting his pillow for awhile, he'd realized how silly he was being. His connection to Grif's mother was unfortunate, unavoidable, but that didn't mean he had any real connection to Grif.

 "Something funny, Sir?" Donut didn't look up from preparing breakfast for the other Reds, as soon as they emerged from their room.

 "Oh, nothing, Donut, just a private joke."

 "Okay. Want any more bacon, sir?"

 "Don't mind if I do."

 While Sarge was helping himself to more bacon, Simmons and Grif entered the kitchen, Simmons looking sinfully awake for such an early hour (in Grif's opinion, anyway), and Grif rubbing sleep from his eyes. Sarge barely spared them a glance.

 Grif took his usual seat at the table with a yawn, and blinked sleepily at Donut as he set a plate in front of him.

 "Do you still need help with your hair, Grif?"

 Sarge chuckled again. "Are you ladies going to braid each other's hair?"

 "Something like that," Grif said sleepily, not yet awake enough to bother arguing. Donut came to his defense instead.

 "I'm helping him with the dye. His roots are starting to grow out so I'm going to help him touch them up."

 "I keep telling you to just cut it to regulation length, then you wouldn't- wait a second, your hair's dyed?"

 "Yes. You thought this was natural?" He ran his fingers through his hair. "I know Donut does a good dye job but it's not that good." He combed his fingers through it a few more times until it looked less like he'd just crawled out of bed.

 "I keep telling him to stop dying it," Donut chastised. "He has such a charming natural color."

 Sarge swallowed nervously. "What- what is your natural color?"

 "Dirty blonde," Donut answered. Grif seemed to be dozing at his chair, or at least, he wasn't paying much attention to the conversation. Donut parted his hair along the top, revealing a streak of sandy blonde at the roots. "I think it looks good on him, but he's very insistent."

 "I like this color," Grif protested, batting Donut's hands away. "It looks good with my complexion. The natural color doesn't."

 Sarge stared at the sandy blonde roots still showing in Grif's hair. He suddenly felt the need to hyperventilate, and took off, abandoning his breakfast. It didn't stay long; Grif rescued it almost immediately.

o/o

 "Sarge?"

 Simmons found Sarge in the firing range twenty minutes later, playing target practice with a set of targets painted with Grif's face. None of the targets looked damaged, which was unusual, as Sarge loved blasting the Grif dummies.

 "Simmons! Come on it, grab a gun and blast some dummies!"

 "Sir, is something wrong? You've been acting strangely."

 "Everything's fine. Are you gonna shoot or not?"

 "Not, sir. I was just checking on you. I was worried."

 "Nothing to worry about, Simmons, but I appreciate the concern." He fired at a target and missed it by a lot. "Dammit, these things are being wily today."

 "It wasn't moving. Are you sure you're okay, sir?"

 "Positive."

 o/o

 "Grif, I'm worried about Sarge."

 Sarge had posted Simmons and Grif on guard duty, which was annoying, but at least it gave them a chance to talk. Grif shrugged.

 "What does it matter? He's crazy anyway, not like any more is going to change much."

 "No really. He was target practicing with the Grif targets earlier and not hitting any of them."

 "That is weird." Grif frowned, then shrugged again. "Oh well. Maybe I'll actually not get hit when he tries killing me next time."

 "He was hyperventilating earlier!"

 "So maybe he'll die and leave us alone."

 "Grif!"

 "What do you want from me, Simmons? The guy makes it his life's mission to kill me in new and interesting ways. Am I supposed to be upset because he might stop?"

 "Yes! Because it's out of character!"

 Grif paused, as though considering this. "....nope, don't care."

 "Dammit, Grif."

 "Wanna know what I think, Grif?"

 "If I say no, aren't you going to tell me anyway?"

 "I think Sarge thinks he's your-"

 "Stop. No. _Do not_ go there."

 "But if he is-"

 "He's not. Even if he was, he's not."

 "That doesn't even make sense."

 "Simmons, you always complain that your dad was a dick, but did it ever occur to you that at least your dad actually stuck around? He didn't do a good job of being a dad but at least he tried. My dad was supposed to be on leave for three months and he disappeared a month and a half early. Mom didn't even find out until after he was gone. How is that a father? Even if it was Sarge, even if my DNA says we're related, he's not my dad, and he never will be."

 "But..."

 "Just drop it."

o/o

 Sarge was in his office, filling out paperwork. Simmons knocked nervously on the door.

 "Uh, sir? Can I ask you something?"

 Sarge grunted, and Simmons took that as an invitation to come in. He fidgeted, not quite willing to ask the question on his mind. Sarge looked up.

 "Well? What did you want to ask me? Out with it, man."

 "Sarge..." He took a deep breath. "Are you Grif's biological father?"

 "I don't really know, Simmons." He looked back at his computer screen, and added, "But I think I might be."

 "Oh?"

 "I did the math; he would have been conceived around the time I was seeing Kalani. And, well, have a look."

 He turned the computer screen around so that Simmons could see the picture on display. It was a younger Sarge, in his early twenties, leaning on a fence with a shotgun thrown casually over his shoulder.

 

 "Oh my God..." Simmons breathed, surprised. With a few changes, it could pass for Grif.

 "Yeah. I never payed it enough attention until he brought up Kalani."

 "Did you know? That she was pregnant, I mean. Is that why you left?"

 "I left because I was told to. If I had known... I still would have left, because I had orders, but I wouldn't have stayed away."

 "You should talk to him, Sir." Simmons was fidgeting again. "I mean, if you think so, he at least has a right to know."

 "To know what? That his father is a asshole? I'm pretty sure he's already guessed."

 "To know that you didn't abandon him. That if you'd known you would have been there."

 "But I did," Sarge said. "I did abandon him, or I might as well have."

 "But you said-"

 "I had plenty of chances to find out about him. I knew Kalani's address, I could have left a way to reach me, hell, I could have taken my next leave in Honolulu. I didn't want to. Besides, it's Grif. There are better options for a long-lost illegitimate son. Now get outta my office. I'm busy."

 Simmons sighed. That could have gone better. "Yes, sir."

o/o

 "Hey Grif, Sarge thinks he's your real dad."

 "Dammit, Simmons, I told you not to bring that up. Would you just drop it?"

 Grif was in their room, stripping down out of his armor. He threw one of his gauntlets at Simmons, and frowned when it was caught and put onto the tiny dresser.

 "Damn Cyborgs. It's not fair when you can do freaky calculations about trajectory and that kinda shit."

 "Actually you just can't throw. So about Sarge."

 "I'm not talking about this." As if to prove his point, Grif slapped his hands over his ears and began humming loudly. Standing in the middle of the room in his underarmor, with his codpiece and one boot still on, covering his ears like a child, was the most ridiculous Simmons had ever seen him. He shook his head. He'd get him to listen eventually.

 o/o

 "Hey Grif, come in here a minute!"

 Grif silently cursed himself for going by Sarge's office instead of taking the long way. When would he learn?

 "Yeah? What do you want?" He asked, as petulantly as possible, hoping that Sarge might send him away in disgust. At a glare, he added, "Sir."

 "Simmons was bothering me about this whole 'me and your mom before you were born' thing."

 "Yeah, he's been bugging me about it, too. What are you going to do?"

 "Well I figure it we try this 'talking' thing, maybe he'll go away."

 They fell silent. Grif shifted a little, shuffled his feet. Sarge drummed his fingers absently on the desk.

 "Well..." Grif said. "This is sure a scintillating coversation."

 Sarge snorted. "Do you actually know what that word means?"

 "Donut keeps using it. I had to look it up."

 They lapsed back into silence. Grif shuffled a little more. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

 "You know, Grif, I'd be lying if I said that this new revelation was going to change what I think of you. If anything, this whole thing makes me even more disappointed in what a useless, layabout jackass you are."

 Grif rolled his eyes in his helmet. "Gee _Dad_ , thanks for the confidence booster. You sure know how to make a guy feel loved."

 "Quit your bellyaching, Dirtbag. I thought you'd be glad that nothing was going to change. What's your problem?"

 "My problem?" Grif gaped at him. "You left! You left and you didn't leave any kind of forwarding address or letter or even some kind of indication that you had to leave! You broke my mom's heart!"

 "All right. I guess I did."

 "Did you even care about her? Or was she just some convenient lay while you were on leave? Cause she never stopped loving you. I used to ask her about you, and she always got this look on her face, like she was still waiting for you to come back. And when she got tired of waiting, she married the first asshole that would take her and didn't even care when he was smacking us around. And you could have stopped that, you could have prevented it, if you'd just said something when you left."

 His hands were clenched into fists, shaking as he fought against the urge to punch Sarge in the face. It would be easier if Sarge actually seemed angry at the outburst, if he would yell at Grif and maybe threaten to punish him, or at least do something to make him stop talking. Sarge was just sitting there, an unreadable look on his face

 "You're an asshole. I'm out."

 He turned and stalked out, ignoring the look he got from Donut, who toppled over when he opened the door.

 "Fuck off, Donut," he said angrily, slamming the door as hard as he could.

o/o

 Simmons found him in their room, angrily shoving his posessions into his duffle. His side of the room was destroyed; everything not being shoved in his duffle was strewn about the floor in a chaotic pile.

 "Grif, what the hell?"

 Grif didn't look up or stop packing. "I'm getting out of here, Simmons." He finished shoving everything into the duffle and drew it up, throwing it over his shoulder and shoving past the other soldier. "I can't stay here, not with him."

 "But you'll be court martialed!"

 "About damn time."

 "Grif!" Simmons followed behind him, pleading with him to stay. "Don't go, Grif. It's not as bad as you think. Please, just stay."

 Grif turned to walk backwards from the base, glaring at Simmons. "Give me one good reason that I should, Simmons. Just one."

 "Because..." Simmons seemed to deflate. "Because you've got what I've always wanted. You've... you've got a second chance. Didn't you always imagine what it would be like to have a relationship with your dad? Now you have that chance! You can start over, rebuild."

 "And the hell makes you think that would actually work?"

 "He hates what he did just as much as you do."

 Silence. Grif sighed. "All right. I'll stay. But I'm not going to hug Sarge."

 Simmons smiled. "That works."

o/o

 Things went back to normal after that, or as normal as they ever got. They said nothing about their recent revelation, and Donut took their cue from him. Occasionally Simmons would try to bring it up, but usually Grif shut him down instantly, not allowing him to finish a sentence. Soon even Simmons got the idea, and stopped mentioning it, though Grif had no doubt that it was still at the forefront of his mind.

 And then they got reassigned, and Sarge refused to go.

 "Please come with us, Sarge," Simmons pleaded. "It won't be the same without you."

 "Yeah, come on Sarge," Donut joined the pleas. "We're a team of four, we should stay that way."

 “Qué soy yo? Picado de hígado?”

 The two turned to glare at Grif. He rolled his eyes.

 "Yeah, come on old man, it's not like there's any threat here. It's just Kai. She'll probably just go around embarassing the family."

 Sarge shook his head. "No, men- and Grif- I think it's best that I stay here to keep an eye on the remaining Blues."

 They sighed. "You better not fucking kill my Sister, Sarge," Grif said crossly. Sarge looked taken aback.

 "Course not!" He said. "She's a girl! I don't hit girls!"

 He ignored Simmons and Donut facepalming behind him. Grif shrugged.

 "Whatever, just don't let her get killed."

o/o

 It's hard to say whether Grif or Simmons was more suprised when Grif was given a new rank piping to replace the old one.

 "I'm a Sergeant now?" His face broke into a huge grin. "Cool! That means it's my ass you're going to be kissing from now on."

 "Fat chance, jackass," Simmons replied.

o/o

 Sarge was secretly glad that he'd been ordered to reassemble his team. He was getting lonely, being the only Red in Blood Gulch, and honestly, he was starting to miss the others, even Grif.

 It didn't take long to find Rat's Next. Initially, he'd planned to just walk in and tell the CO that he's been ordered to take his men back, but when he saw the two lined up in front of a firing squad, he hopped in the Warthog and shot in to the rescue.

o/o

 Grif was secretly glad that Sarge had shown up. Now would be his chance to show him what a good leader he could be. He wasn't entirely sure why it mattered, but a tiny, insignificant part of him desperately wanted to impress Sarge, and that part seemed to be trying to take over. Which was weird.

 "That... was awful," Sarge said.

 The little tiny insignificant part of him died a little. "But I learned it from watching you!" he half-sobbed.

o/o

 They stayed at the Red Base on Sidewinder, their adventure fresh in their minds and their bodies exhausted by the ordeal. Grif was in the room he'd commandeered as his, wearing only his undershirt and boxers, lying on the bunk and trying not to feel his arms. They were killing him; dangling from the cliff for so long had taken it's toll on him. Doc had given him something to ease the pain a little, but it had long since worn off and he couldn't manage the energy to get up and go get more.

 He grunted at the knock on his door, expecting Simmons coming to check on him. Instead, Sarge came in, dressed down to his underarmor and carrying a jar of something in his hands.

 "Doc left this, said you should put it on your shoulders to help them heal."

 "What is it?"

 "Uh..." he checked the jar. "Aloe vera. Son of a gun."

 "Can't hurt, I guess. Just leave it on the dresser, I'll get it later."

 He didn't want to admit that he couldn't really move his arms without pain shooting through them, but Sarge saw through the ruse. He sat on the end of the cot and helped Grif up and out of his shirt.

 "Uh, Sarge?" Grif didn't know what was going on until Sarge began rubbing the Aloe into his shoulders. It was weird, but the pressure felt kind of nice.

 "Hold still, di- Grif. This won't take very long."

 "Yeah, okay." They fell silent, while Sarge tended to the pulled muscles on his back. After a while, Grif was forced to break the silence. "Sarge, can I ask you a question?"

 "Can't hurt. Can I point and laugh at you if it's a stupid question?"

 "I guess." He shrugged automatically, and gasped as it set his body on fire again. "I was just wondering... I mean, why didn't you want the others to look over the edge of the cliff? Simmons was right, it would have only taken a second, and it would have set his mind at ease either way."

 Sarge's hands stilled. "I was... I was afraid you really were dead. I didn't want to get my hopes up only to have them crushed again."

 "What? You mean you actually cared that I might be dead?"

 "Of course I cared. I know I do a great job of hiding it, but I actually do care about you, Grif. You're... you're my son. I might give you a hard time and threaten your life on a daily basis, but I would be devastated if you actually died."

 He traced one of the scar lines from the surgery, where dark skin met freckled.

 "I almost lost you once, before I even knew. I don't think I could handle it again, and if you'd gone over the cliff, I couldn't have stitched you back together, even if I did have the parts."

 "Oh." Grif fell silent. It wasn't the answer he'd been expecting. He realized this was the first time in over a year that Sarge had acknowledged that Grif was his son.

 "I really did love her," Sarge continued. "I had all these dreams, of going back to her after the war was over, and settling down and having a family and getting my happily ever after. But she always said she'd only marry a man who show her the stars, and at the time that wasn't me. So I figured she'd be better off without me."

 Grif just snorted. Sarge pressed on.

 "By the time I got up the nerve to look her up again a few years later her file said she'd been married with a kid. I figured she'd found her white knight, and that I was too late. So I ran away. Ran further and further every time, until I ran to Blood Gulch and they decided to give me a team with a kissass and a dumbass."

 "And they gave us a jackass to lead us."

 "Hey now..."

 "You know something, Sarge? You might be a jackass and the worst excuse for a CO I could have been given, but I would rather have had you growing up than Liko."

 "Thanks Grif." He rubbed the last of the Aloe into the base of Grif's neck and stood. "That means a lot, it really does."

 There was a long pause.

 "We're not gonna hug now, are we?"

 "Hell no!"

 "Oh, whew." Grif rolled his shoulders. They still hurt, but Sarge had managed to work out some of the worst of it. "So uh. Thanks for that. I um."

 "I'll go, you should get some sleep." He paused at the door. "G'night, Grif."

 Grif waited until Sarge had closed the door to lie back down on his cot.

 "Good night.... Dad," he whispered.

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I feel like I used to be better at writing Sarge in character.
> 
> Oh snap, is this a Throwback Thursday on an actual Thursday for the second time in a row? Hells to the yeah dude.


End file.
